


Untitled

by proleptic_fancy



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-14
Updated: 2007-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proleptic_fancy/pseuds/proleptic_fancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Wesley Wyndam-Price had spent an overwhelming portion of his life being single. He really didn't mind it that much. It wasn't a bad way to live for 364 days out of the year. However, that still left the most sinister twenty-four hours in a single person's year, lurking in an otherwise unremarkable month before ambushing lonely men and women across the globe: Valentine's Day. And, like many people, single or otherwise, Wesley had allowed it to creep up on him yet again. Not to be deterred, he decided to take the mature, responsible course of action, which mainly consisted of barricading himself in his apartment with a thick, practical, and not-in-the-least-bit-sappy novel and a large bottle of Scotch, while absolutely not thinking about past rejections and future loneliness. He had made it to the second page and his third drink when he was interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door.

"Open up, English. I know you're in there," came the muffled voice of...Gunn?

Wesley sighed and set down his book. What on earth could Gunn want from him that couldn't wait until morning? He opened the door, giving the man waiting unapologetically behind it a nasty look.

"Is there something you need? I'm really quite busy at the moment," Wesley said, raising an eyebrow.

"I can see that," Gunn replied, eying the abandoned novel and not-so-abandoned Scotch with barely concealed amusement.

Wesley glared at him.

Gunn just smiled. "What, not even gonna invite me in?"

Wesley moved to stand aside, than paused, realization dawning on his face.

"You're evil, aren't you?" he said, trying to furtively reach for a nearby stake. He missed and it clattered to the floor.

"Nope, just polite," Gunn replied. "Besides, whether you let me in or not, I ain't leavin' until you talk to me." To illustrate his point, he shifted his stance slightly and folded his arms across his chest.

Wesley continued to frown at his unexpected guest, but moved aside to let him enter.

"Actually, I was hoping to interrupt your exciting night at home with," Gunn glanced at the book's cover and raised an eyebrow, "Proust, and go out for a while. Maybe grab a bite to eat or somethin'."

Wesley narrowed his eyes at Gunn.

"Cordelia put you up to this." It wasn't a question.

Displaying remarkable patience, Gunn just shrugged.

"Wrong again. Trust me, we're the last possible thing on her mind right now. She's on a date."

"Really?" Wesley asked. "The poor man managed to survive Angel's interrogation?"

"Angel doesn't know, but the guy gets points for surviving mine," Gunn said. "Not that he was any different from the rest of Cordelia's dates: tall, rich, and stupid."

Wesley felt himself smiling a little in spite of his dark mood. Unfortunately, Gunn noticed and began bothering him with renewed vigor.

"C'mon," the taller man said, taking a soft, coaxing tone. "When was the last time you went out to a place that didn't deliver in little cartons?"

"Well, I..." Wesley felt his resolve beginning to slip away.

Gunn gave him one of his 'I told you so' looks. "Exactly."

Wesley was loath to admit it, but Gunn had a point. There was only one option left to him now, low as it was, if he ever wanted to get back to pretending to read Proust and drinking himself senseless.

"Are you quite sure about this? After all, it is Valentine's Day. People might talk," he said, hoping a threat to Gunn's masculinity would make him go away.

"So? Let them talk," Gunn replied. "Why should two friends be afraid to go out and enjoy themselves just because it's February 14th?"

Wesley sighed, knowing he'd lost this round as well. "I'll get my coat."

Gunn grinned. "That's more like it. I know a little place, L.A.'s best kept secret. Trust me, you're gonna love it."

'Trust me,' Gunn had said, and oddly enough, as Wesley shut the door behind them, he realized that he did, absolutely.

That would provide an explanation for how, twenty minutes later, Wesley found himself sitting at a table in a small Italian restaurant he never even knew existed, talking to Gunn and getting strange glances from various couples around the room.

"I'll admit it's a little cliché, but the food's worth it," Gunn said, and he was right. More than right. The food was amazing, and the company, well, it was a damn sight better than Proust.

As their plates were cleared, Wesley noticed Gunn staring out into space, softly drumming his fingers on the table.

"Are you all right?" Wesley asked, concerned. "You've hardly touched your wine."

Gunn laughed, low and throaty. "Well, somebody's gotta drive your drunk ass home."

Wesley managed to look offended. "I am not drunk. I'll have you know I have a very high alcohol tolerance, and I could drink the likes of you under the table any day of the week!"

"Keep dreamin', English," Gunn replied, looking skeptical, "and speaking of home, I should probably get you there. We can't miss the fight against evil because you've got a hangover tomorrow morning."

Wesley rolled his eyes, but rose from his seat and pulled on his jacket, and after a few feeble protests, allowed Gunn to pay their bill. They returned to Gunn's truck in the mild L.A. night.

When they reached the front of Wesley's building, neither one of them moved.

"Thank you, Gunn, for the food, for the evening. I, I really do appreciate it," Wesley said, giving Gunn a rare, shy smile.

"Not a problem. It was the least I could do, with the way everything's been goin' lately."

Wesley's smile vanished. "I don't need to be pitied. Not by you, or Cordelia, or anyone."

Realization dawned on Gunn's face. "So that's what that was all about earlier. Relax, Wes. I know you don't need pity. I just noticed you'd been kind of testy lately, and figured some good food and my fine company would placate whatever was bringin' you down." He grinned at the slightly stunned look on Wesley's face. "What? I can use the big words, same as you."

Wesley shook his head. "No, it's not that, although your extensive vocabulary never ceases to impress. I just feel I've been unfair to you."

"I told you, it's not a problem," Gunn replied. "With the way life's been lately, you haven't been doing too bad."

Wesley smiled again, and he realized the Scotch, and the wine, must have finally hit his brain, because kissing Gunn suddenly seemed like the only logical course of action. Logic had always been Wesley's strong point, but balance was not, and he only managed to graze Gunn's lips before ending up across the other man's lap.

Gunn blinked and helped Wesley back into a seated position. "And that was?" he asked.

"I am so very sorry," Wesley babbled, vaguely aware that he was groveling again. He'd really meant to stop doing that. "That was completely inappropriate of me, and I'm sorry, and you were right, I'm terribly drunk, and you shouldn't hold my actions against me, and—"

Gunn cut him off with a finger firmly pressed to Wesley's lips. " Would I be taking advantage of your drunken state if I said that wasn't all I planned to hold against you?"

Wesley blinked, abruptly feeling quite sober. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Gunn grinned. "That depends. Do you put out on the first date?"

The buzz returned, but Wesley was positive it was no longer alcohol related. "Generally not, but I think we can make an exception, just this once. Shall we, er, go upstairs?"

Gunn stepped out of the truck, gallantly opening the passenger door for Wesley. "It'll be better than the truck until that wound of yours finally heals."

Wesley looked at the truck, and then Gunn with a slightly quirked eyebrow. "Shameless."

"What, like you weren't thinkin' it too," Gunn said, trying to look hurt, but too pleased with himself to pull it off. "Whatever. Lead the way, English."

Wesley came in to work the next morning feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks, and if Cordelia noticed he was walking a little more stiffly than usual, she never said a word.


End file.
